French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2)

by Maddie Taylor

  “Others have left you this way?”

  “Yes, sir, as you said, they found me stubborn.”

  “Merde,” he growled. “Short of punishment, which you haven’t earned, or a safeword, never would I leave a sub in such a state. This is what we negotiated, oui? A moderate whipping followed by a hard fucking. I’m proud, as are most doms, but not so much that I’d renege on our agreement when I didn’t prove myself exceptional. Neither am I so arrogant to allow my bruised pride to pass up a dripping wet cunt when it’s offered.”

  Waves of humiliation rolled through her. She’d heard the talk. Cold, distant, stubborn, but always up for a good fuck. To many, like Arturo, she was a challenge, their overconfidence making them choose her for the night to see if they could crack through her icy shields. It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.

  She heard a wrapper crinkle and felt his strong hands grip her hips, then he surged up inside her, his generous proportions robbing her of breath. He began pumping into her hard. It was mechanical, perfunctory, emotionless, exactly as she wanted it, as she needed it to be. Then his fingers threaded into the hair at her nape and tugged her head back firmly, further restraining her body. She was completely immobilized, her limbs stretched taut with her wrists and ankles strapped to the cross. The seven-foot-tall x-frame acting as a restraint itself, preventing forward movement. Now, her head movement was curtailed as well. Fully restrained and helpless, she could only take the cock that slammed into her relentlessly and revel in the exquisite domination.

  A hard slap on the ass reignited the sizzling heat brought on by the flogging and the subsequent lashes of his blistering quirt. It was followed by another swat, and yet another, then he grabbed a handful of one ass cheek and squeezed. As his hard fingers dug into her pliant flesh made hot and raw from the whipping, pain and ecstasy flowed through her in equal parts, giving her that extra nudge that she needed. Only then did she allow her body to completely surrender as her orgasm claimed her.

  * * *

  Minutes later, after Arturo had growled his own release, she walked away under her own power, a feat in itself with his enigmatic eyes upon her. She resisted looking over her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to turn and run back to him, to crawl into his lap and cuddle on a couch like so many of the other couples, to share an intimacy beyond sex that she yearned for desperately. He’d taken her farther than she’d allowed anyone in the previous months, and with him, only him, she’d found the elusive release of a body shattering climax. Even more proof that he posed a clear and present danger that she must resist.

  Although weak and in need of assurance, after he’d released her restraints, she’d only accepted his hands on her hips supporting her unsteady body until she found her feet. Aftercare was limited to a bottle of water and a blanket, intentionally. She’d meant to decline even that kindness. And she felt like the cold bitch everyone thought her to be, when she’d shook her head to so much as a hug. But she’d been resolute when she’d seen the glint of disappointment in his eyes knowing that it was unfair to him. Doms often needed aftercare too, but she didn’t dare allow another moment in his arms. Tenderness of that sort wasn’t an option for her. So, with a murmured thank you, she’d taken herself off to the women’s locker room as quickly as she could, ignoring the heat of his gaze drilling into her back.

  Done for the night, having gotten what she’d come for without accepting any affection or other emotion that could be misconstrued as loving—that was reserved for Derek and he was dead—she changed quickly. With only a nod to the attendant at the front door, she fled to the parking lot, the same as she did on each infrequent visit. No one else was outside this early. They were still inside enjoying all the club had to offer: a cocktail with a lover or friends in the bar after a scene, dancing with that special someone, or simply enjoying the phenomenal live music in the lounge. Or, so she’d heard, never experiencing any of those amenities herself.

  In her car, she locked the doors and turned the key. Throwing the gearshift into reverse, she pulled out recklessly fast, and then slammed it into drive. Mari was ten miles out on I-10 toward Houston before they threatened, choking her as they always did. Again, as was the norm, she took the next exit and found the nearest empty parking lot, pulling into the darkest corner. Switching off the engine, she dropped her head forward, her forehead thumping on the padded steering wheel. Only then did she allow the tears to come, and did they ever, as she succumbed to a deluge of guilt and grief, as well as self-loathing for what she’d become.

  * * *

  He was at the bar waiting to be served when he saw her pass through. She was magnificent. Her color heightened after the scene, her thick mane of rich coppery hair in charming disarray, full pink lips swollen not from his many kisses, mores the pity—although the one he’d stolen, unable to resist, was thorough and tasted honey sweet—but from biting her lips to hold back her cries. Her eyes were averted as she rushed toward the exit, but he suspected they were large and luminous, holding the same distress she’d shown toward the end of their scene.

  “What may I get for you, sir?” a soft, dulcet voice asked.

  He didn’t turn right away, watching the mysterious Marilee make her escape through the doors before he did so. When he shifted around, he encountered a pale blonde with cyan blue eyes and a cute button nose. She didn’t look old enough to be up past ten o’clock, let alone get into the club or serve alcohol.

  “Dry martini, s’il vous plait. Grey Goose if you’ve got it. Two olives.” Looking on as she poured the vodka and vermouth, he stopped her before she put the top on the shaker. “Unlike the infamous 007, I can drink mine stirred.”

  She looked up at him, her brows gathering in confusion. “Double-oh-seven, sir?”

  He tilted his head, his turn to be surprised. “Yes, like Bond, as in James Bond?”

  “Um…” she hesitated, tilting her head to the side endearingly.

  “Sadie isn’t big on pop culture, I’m afraid.” A tall, tee shirt clad man came up behind the bartender and put an arm around her shoulders. He offered his free hand to Arturo. “I’m Ben, the bar manager. You’re new, yeah? I saw you the last couple times, but you were involved in a scene or the crowds didn’t allow time for introductions.”

  “Arturo Durand,” he said as he shook his hand.

  “Are you enjoying our little sex club, then? Anything come close in your neck of the woods? You’re French, right?”

  “Yes, but I call London home for now.”

  “For now? Are you considering a move to the great state of Texas? That’d be quite a culture shock, I imagine.”

  “Moving from one city to the next doesn’t sound so shocking to me,” Sadie murmured softly.

  “You would know, wouldn’t you, baby?”

  Arturo watched as Ben pressed a kiss to her temple, noticing the matching wedding bands they both wore and figured there was a story there. Everyone he’d met at the club seemed to have a compelling story, especially the six owners, but getting to know the natives in detail would have to wait until after his mission, so he didn’t push for more.

  “I’m in town on business,” he said evasively, as he took a sip of his martini. While he did, he surveyed the lounge area and dance floor in the wall to ceiling mirror behind the bar. Decorated in rich burgundy and gold, the lighting set off the interior design to perfection, the furnishings were plush and plentiful, and arranged closely, which was conducive for intimate conversations despite the noise level. The dance floor beyond the bar was large enough to permit couples to sway close or to writhe and gyrate to music supplied by the top notch band performing live on the stage on the far side of the enormous room. Again, he was surprised that this private sex club rivaled the opulence and style of Baroque, in Lisbon, with its 500-euro minimum, the ultra-exclusive 79 Club in Paris, or the hedonistic escape that was Insomnia in Berlin.

  His attention was captured by a half-naked nymph of a submissive leashed and being led across th
e room by her clamped and chained nipples. Surveying the rest of the members in an array of attire from full body latex, to skimpy club wear or requisite leather, to full on designer evening wear with the sub in silk and lace to match their dom in Armani and a silk tie, he knew nothing in Europe had anything on Club Decadence.

  “To answer your other question,” Arturo continued, “although the clubs in Europe are more prevalent and may boast royals on their guest lists, I’ve never been to one with quite the, uh, shall we say panache and vibrancy of your charming club.”

  A hand clamped on his shoulder as he finished speaking. “Good to hear, my friend. That’s what we were shooting for when we opened.”

  Twisting on his stool, he looked up at the mountain of a man who towered over his own above average six-foot-two-inch frame. A grin split his face.

  “Cap, mon vieil ami!” he exclaimed as he rose and clasped his old friend’s hand. Ordinarily it would end with a handshake, but they were in Texas so he returned his friend’s shoulder bump and firm slap on the back.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Arturo.” Cap was former Special Forces Captain Tony Rossi; a man he’d first met twelve years earlier while they each served their country in response to the 911 attacks. Arturo, who had dual citizenship, also had the same rank in the UK Special Forces and was leading a Special Air Service—SAS troop—deployed in Iraq and subsequently to Afghanistan. As part of the coalition forces, he’d had the opportunity to team up with Cap and his crack unit of highly skilled Green Berets, many of whom he still worked with, Master Dex included, after retiring to San Antonio.

  “I hear you’re here for other than recreation. The General filled me in on what he knows. You have all the resources Rossi can provide should you need it.”

  “Which is much appreciated and something I’ll readily take you up on.”

  Their eyes met, Tony read the seriousness of his situation easily, and nodded. “Let’s go to the office. I’ll gather the rest of my team and you can fill us all in at once on exactly how we can be of help.”

  “I was told you have an excellent computer man.”

  “Yes, Jonas Mitchell.” Cap glanced down at his watch. “I haven’t seen him tonight, but he should be along any moment, if he hasn’t already come in the back.” He held out an arm indicating the door in the rear of the lounge marked private. “This way.”

  Chapter Six

  The morning light filtering through the window blinds woke her. Her eyes opened, but she didn’t move, trying to find a reason to get up. There was the boutique. She could run by and check on…

  No, Adriana was an efficient manager. She’d only be in the way.

  Mari racked her brain trying to come up with some other reason to dress and rejoin the living, but failed. Her kids were gone. Jordan, always Jordy since he was born, was in his junior year at Baylor in Waco, a three-hour drive away, and her baby, eighteen-year-old Beth, was a freshman at Texas Wesleyan, another hour and change beyond that in Ft. Worth.

  Neither had chosen Rice, her alma mater, which was at home in Houston. God forbid, they should be so close to their mom. She understood, though. It was a chance to spread their wings as they embarked on this new stage in their lives.

  Jordy’s leaving, not long after Derek’s sudden passing, had been hard, but Beth heading off for college only a few months ago had been devastating. Suddenly, she was faced with an empty nest and a bleak glimpse into an even emptier future.

  She rolled onto her back. The rub of the sheets on her tender behind a stinging reminder of last night and the behavior she’d exhibited monthly for the past year.

  After Derek died, she’d gone numb, the horrific car accident taking so much more from her than a husband and father to her children. Going through the motions for her kids’ sake, it was as if she’d donned a mask, and not a very good one she found out later, but that was all she could manage at the time, and for a long while after. She’d gotten stuck in shock, not progressing through any of the other stages of grief she’d learned about in college, in basic Psych 101. Anger would have been good, or bargaining as any normal person would, but she hadn’t broken out of the fog that had overtaken her for more than a year. When she did finally begin to move again, she bypassed stages two and three and found herself immersed into the worst one of all, depression, and she’d taken up residence there ever since.

  Her mother worried, having been through something similar when Mari’s dad had passed from a heart attack at only fifty-one, as did her older sister, Renee. A physician in private practice on the east coast, she’d flown in at her mother’s urging and convinced Mari to begin grief counseling. Not that it had done much good. But time passed and as everyone moved on with their own lives, especially her kids who were growing up, Mari didn’t.

  No wonder they hadn’t wanted to stay close to home after high school. With an emotionally obtunded mother casting a gloom over their lives, who could blame them for taking the opportunity to get out, and running away from her like their hair was on fire?

  Oh, she hadn’t totally checked out. She’d still done the PTA thing, the booster fundraisers, and attended all their sporting and extra-curricular events, but she’d done so as if a pall had been cast over her, which it had. If she’d shown up in widow’s weeds, with unrelieved black from head to toe, a lace veil covering her face, no one would have been surprised in the least.

  They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. She and Derek had hidden their relationship from them all: her children, both of their families, and all of their friends. But when a submissive loses her master of eighteen years, it is more than devastating, it is catastrophic.

  Intellectually, she knew what was wrong. She’d lost more than an ordinary man; she’d lost the center of her universe. He was as big as the sun, and she and her children the planets orbiting his brightness and warmth. Derek was the head of the family and the provider, in death he had continued with the latter, leaving her and the children well off in such a way that none of them would ever want for anything. But money couldn’t hug her when she needed it, or make a decision when she couldn’t, or give her the things that she craved that no one could ever know about: control, dominance, erotic pain.

  The children grieved the loss of their larger than life father, but as children often did, they bounced back, and quickly proving their resilience, had moved on. Relying on friends for support, they moved seamlessly through the stages unlike their mother.

  The first counselor she saw deemed their marriage co-dependent and unhealthy. Mari hadn’t returned for the next session. She’d gone to another and found her judgmental. After the third called her deviant, referring to her and Derek’s dynamic as paraphilic—he being the sadist to her masochist—Mari had given up. And so she remained to this day, stuck in grief and depression.

  But as she thought about last night, she wondered for the first time if the therapists weren’t right. Surely it wasn’t normal for a woman to seek out men, virtual strangers for nothing other than kink and a climax, to not want to bond in any way other than through the base animal instinct of raw, carnal sex. It made her feel dirty, and it worsened after every encounter. Never had she felt that way with Derek.

  She threw her arm over her eyes, blocking out the light, wondering where she went from here.

  Her phone rang, buzzing as it crawled across the nightstand.

  Rolling onto her side, she reached for it, noting it was after one o’clock in the afternoon. She’d slept half the day away. Scanning the screen for the incoming number, she frowned at the area code. San Antonio, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Swiping the screen with her thumb, she answered hesitantly. “Hello?”

  “Marilee?”

  She didn’t recognize the deep, rumbling male voice, but recognized the distinct aura of authority. She stiffened with unease, answering with a tentative, “Yes?”

  “Dexter Russell here, from Club Decadence.”

  She choked, practically swallowing her tongue
. Why was the Master Dom calling her? What could he possibly want?

  “Mari? Are you there?”

  “Yes, um, sir. I mean, Master Dex.”

  “This is an informal call, darlin’. Dex is fine.”

  Her brows drew together. What did that mean? The intercession last night and now a call, what on earth was going on?

  “Uh, okay, um… Dex.” Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temple. Calling him by his first name was strange and felt oddly uncomfortable. What the heck did he want? “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “I was calling to check in. The attendant last night was worried after you flew out of the front door and zoomed out of the parking lot at Mach V. Was there a problem with Master Arturo? He’s a new member. Say so and I can address any issues with him.”

  “Oh, no, Mast—” Submissive etiquette, too long ingrained kept her from calling him by name, despite his permission. “Uh, no, sir. Master Arturo was, uh, wonderful. He was polite and acted like a gentleman. I used my safeword and he honored it without question.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, although I’ll keep your comments between us. Calling a sadist polite or a gentleman is damning him with faint praise. I’m not sure Arturo will appreciate that getting around.”

  “I didn’t mean— Uh, well, it was very nice, the scene I mean.”

  He chuckled and she realized that nice wasn’t much better. “Why the sudden exodus, then? Was it something else?”

  “No, I just had to be home at a certain time. I live in Houston, you see.”

  “I know that Marilee, I have your file here.” He paused. “If you’re certain there is no issue…”

  “Everything is fine, sir.”

  “Good, then let’s discuss something that isn’t. It seems we were remiss in getting all the required forms signed when you joined. I’ll need you to stop by administration on your next visit and get that taken care of.”